To Tread the Boards Once More...
Got quite carried away reading the plays of Joe Orton today. Didn't realise how much I missed this book, purchased it in 1988 when I was young and had the frame of mind to weave an alternative lifestyle for myself. (At least in my imagination) Lets face it that is the safest way to lead an alternative lifestyle. I still lived at home with good old Mum and Dad paying the bills, however my girlfriends and I had completed a week of work experience at a University Performing Arts campus and were well on our way to a romantic life of bohemian stage plays and dark alley play houses. I especially yearned this lifestyle as I had completed 4 years of drama at school with excellent results. It is amazing what a rave revue from a high school teacher and constant pats on the back from peers will do for one's ego when you are a tender 18. You always over estimate your talent and your drive, well I seemed to have.
When I was 19, my friends and I continually scoured the strange old bookshops in Brisbane city looking for that elusive early edition of Joe Orton plays, Samuel Beckett's works or Harold Pinters masterpieces. We ooed and ahhed at dusty covers and browning pages that seemed so precious. If we were lucky to make an extrodinary find and purchase it we then adjourned to the scanky tea room above Edward Street, ordered herbal tea's and poured over the pages, devouring all the non-sensical issues, lapping up the complete absurdity of it all.
Today as I re-read Joe Ortons plays I was reminded of this magical time of my life. The simple way of life, we were never girls who cared what others thought, our appearance was our own making, not fashion following. Our minds were our own, they didn't belong to any click at school, we overachieved at drama and english class. None of us were perfect, our spelling was poor, our grammer probably worse but our talent and passion made up for those. So my English teacher told me anyway, God bless dear Mrs Mifflan.
I remembered the thrill of giving a recital and being carried away mentally and physically by a character, by being entranced by the words I had learned, as if they were my own, not written and memorised for entertainment.
As I sat on my bed, encircled by my memories, I wondered if there was still time. Am I too old to seek that same thrill again? Would a theatre company want me? Well there is only one way to find out. So I Googled some Performing Companies and emailed them my details, lets see what the response shall be. If it is very negative you won't catch me busking that's for sure. I will quietly take their NO and sit back on my bed with my old books and read. I will gladly listen to my children play and the sounds of a happy home that I have helped to create. At least that talent was not wasted!